


Talk About You

by DavyJones



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orchestra, M/M, Slow Burn, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavyJones/pseuds/DavyJones
Summary: Harry is selectively mute and mostly signs to communicate with the people around him. Everyone plays in the region's youth symphony.





	1. Sitting On The Back Seat

**Author's Note:**

> It all started years ago with a selective mutism diagnosis and the realization that Harry's fingers would be perfect for playing the viola.  
>   
> \---  
> This is not a cured by love fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torturous conductors, torturous food.

The conductor aggressively moved her baton to stop everyone from playing and knocked it on the edge of her music stand. “No, nonono, what did i just say. Look at me. You should know this part by heart by now, no need to look into your sheet music. We have to perform this perfectly in two days, concentrate!”

Harry cringed, this was just a the region’s youth symphony, he didn’t understand why Mrs. Bucket was making such a fuss about maybe two of the cellos and one trombone not looking out. There were only going to be relatives and friends anyway, as always. And someone from the newspaper who would write an unqualified article about how great it was, praise the instrument of the day they didn’t know anything about and that was it. With his viola resting on his thigh he looked around while ignoring the complaints.

It was Friday afternoon and most people seemed to think the same or just wanted to get to the restaurant next door where, according to their schedule, lunch has been waiting for them for almost an hour now. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Niall signing “hungry” and “food” into his direction, while using the tympani as a bowl. As he was about to turn around and sign “look at Mrs. B” back, the conductor’s voice pierced through the wall of hunger reminding everyone “no food, before everyone’s looking out, at least just this one time”. “Once again, and hopefully for the last time, I’m starving.”

The threat of having to wait any longer to get out and eat must have worked, about ten minutes later everyone sighed in relief as they put their instruments away, grabbed their jacked and walked over to the restaurant. The cook didn’t seem too pleased about the delay, but the waiter smiled and showed them the area reserved for the orchestra members. Zayn was one of the first of the musicians to sit down, so Niall and Harry followed him and took a seat opposite of him.

“God, Mrs. Bucket’s been trying to torture everyone with her perfectionism. Like there’s nothing more important than looking at her hand move.” Harry’s eyes widened, his lips pressed together and he shook his head. Mrs. Bucket was stood less than a meter away from them and knowing her character she would take it as an insult. Zayn just shrugged and wanted to continue but luckily Niall cut him off. “You can talk, Mr. One Point One Violinist. She loves you! You can do and say whatever you want, I bet even if you played an entirely different piece than the rest of us she would praise you. Think of the little ones. I am a mere timpanist.“ And when he looked at Harry, he signed “viola” and stuck out his tongue.

A hand came around Zayn and placed a steaming bowl of spaghetti in front of him. This stopped him from replying and he sniffed it. “It’s just tomato sauce.” With a shrug he dug in and immediately made a face. Niall was about to eagerly shove a spoonful of his now arrived portion into his mouth as well, when he noticed Zayn’s frozen face and carefully asked: “What’s up One Point One, the food not to your majesty’s liking?”. At about the same time, from somewhere else in the room a rather loud “Eww” was heard, followed by the just as loud bang of a glass on a table.

It was the contrabass tubist that sometimes stood out by randomly blasting out notes during pieces that didn’t feature his instrument. Mrs. Bucket tolerated it, he was good albeit one of the few in the area, probably also a reason he could keep interrupting.

“Oi Zayn, guess Mr. Contrabass Tuba is your soul mate after all.”

“Shut it.” Zayn tried to make an angry face and roll his eyes at the same time

“Wow, food turned you up but that boy worked wonders. Incredible”

“Honestly, shut it…”

Harry smiled at their banter but his interest was caught by the petite boy next to the tuba player. He wasn’t sure who he was or which instrument he played, but decided to check that later. Maybe he was new, the woodwinds changed quite frequently, or maybe Harry had just been blind all this time. Whichever it was, he now had a hard time taking his eyes off of him.

-

“Your only mode is loud, isn’t it?” Louis shook his table-mate’s arm in an attempt to reduce the noise that was coming from his left.

“This is bloody salty, you can’t blame me!,” Liam replied, almost as loud as the “Ew” that had come out of his mouth mere seconds ago. The contents of the water glass were half on his shirt and hopefully half on the way to his stomach.

“Well yes, but you don’t see anyone else proclaiming it so loudly, have some respect for the cook.”

“This cook,” he mimicked quotation marks with his fingers, “shouldn’t be allowed to have that title if all they can serve us is a plate of mushy salt.” Liam was about continue insulting the poor individual that tried to make lunch for a bunch of orchestra kids that everyone from allergy ridden trombonist to vegan could eat when Louis poked him with his pinky.

“Who’s that guy with the long hair on the first violinist’s table?”

“Ah,” temporarily distracted from the apparent attempt of a poisoning in front of him, Liam looked into the direction Louis was staring. “That’s Harry, he plays the viola. He’s been here for as long as I can remember, so at least two years. Can’t really judge violas but he seems a pretty good player.”

“Mhm, nice.”

“You should have seen him before, doesn’t the viola section sit in front of the flutes?”

“Mh-.” The long haired boy had looked in his direction and smiled.

“Are you listening? What’s so fascinating over there? Has the pasta turned you into a pillar of salt?

“Yeah, yeah, I can multitask, you know? Violist, good player, should sit in front of me. But in case you haven’t noticed, we’re supposed to look at the conductor and I don’t see why a violist should turn around 180 degrees to look at me. They hate me, they hate flutes, that’s what I’ve been told at school orchestra anyway.”

Liam huffed. “Alright, you’re excused. You want to meet him later?”  
Louis’ brain felt like it was turning into a bowling ball and his faced got hot. “I-, idontknow, whywouldwemeethim?’

“You alright? Didn’t mean to fluster you.” A cheeky grin formed on his face. “I just mean, after practice some of the orchestra hang out sometimes. We could see if they wanted to? Maybe?” His confidence faltered a little.

“Have you ever done that with them? It doesn’t look like you’re too close. Since we’re sitting on the opposite end of the room basically.”

“We’re good, I’ve wanted to get to know our number one better for.. a while….,” he trailed off.

Louis noticed and wondered what his friend was thinking about and if it was about that first stand violinist but didn’t mention it. He just nodded and tried the spaghetti again.


	2. Don't Dull The Sparkle In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hang out.

They were tortured for three more hours with another attempt at everyone looking out during Alban Berg, who Niall loved for one reason or another. Mostly because he got to play more than usual. And Jommelli’s Fetonte, which absolutely everyone hated but Mrs. Bucket was convinced was the best piece she’s had the pleasure of conducting. It made Louis extremely aware how high pitched his instrument was behind Harry, who he had now noticed was only sitting one stand in front of him and who also kept making movements with his hands at the timpanist from time to time. He was so mesmerized, at one point he forgot to come in again. Mrs. Bucket didn’t mention it. Louis guessed it was because he’s new.

Putting his flute away didn’t take long, as did Liam’s contrabass tuba. They watched for a few moments longer as the string boys loosened their bows while chatting to the timpanist, Niall, Liam told Louis as they waited, who was twirling one of his drum sticks dangerously close to a cello.

“Sooo, what’s your grand plan,” Louis asked after a few seconds of silence and awkward staring.

“When they get up to leave we ask if they would like to hang out.”

“One”, he lifted his index finger, “we? And two,” his middle finger joined, “that’s your grand plan? Would you like to hang out? Not very telling. At least make up your mind where we’re going to.”

“Well, maybe not us in unison but you’ll be here. And to be honest, I don’t know where we’re going.Thought you’d just join in and make something up when I’m at loss for words.” Liam flashed a guilty grin, his head between his raised shoulders.

“Okay. Alright. I’ll have to be the dad for once, I see. I’ll have to help. Don’t worry. But don’t complain either, later on.”

-

“Put that thing away!”

Zayn's words echoed through the now almost empty room. His violin was already packed up, the case slung over his left shoulder. Niall had been still twirling his sticks and almost hit him in the face. With a quiet laugh Niall put the sticks in their designated holders and followed Harry and Zayn to the door.

He recognized Liam and the new flutist standing by the side, their instruments long put away but seemingly waiting for something. As they were about to walk through the open door Liam stepped in their way. His timing was considerably bad, Zayn’s foot was already outside and Liam almost tripped over him and had a hard time keeping them both up. His fingers went around Zayn’s right wrist and pulled it up, as if to keep him off the ground by a rope. Zayn made a noise and tried to grab onto something but almost lost his violin case so he just stared in shock until Liam let go of him.

“I’m so, so sorry! Honestly. I didn’t mean to trip you. Are you alright?”

Zayn looked down at his shoes, to his wrist and put his case strap back. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m good. I know you didn’t intend to hurt me. At least I hope so.” His smile looked insecure.

Niall scrunched his nose and tried to lift an eyebrow. Always-ready-to-speak-his-mind-Zayn didn’t have anything to say on this attack? What was going on?

The contrabass tubist had looked at the ground and now slowly nodded, lifting his head in the process. “That’s good. Mm, yea.”

A silence that could be described as uncomfortable ensued when the new boy spoke up.

“Hey, we’ve just been wondering. Would you like to hang out with us? Now I mean. Just chilling a bit after this-“, he moved his hands vaguely in front of his face “enduring practice.”

Niall laughed. “Sure, why not. You in Harry?”

Harry shrugged and made a similar why-not face. Then he stopped and signed: “Where are we going?”

“Oh, right. Where are we going?”

Liam’s head seemed to robotically turn towards his fluting friend.

“Outside? For now? See how long we can do shit and then decide together? I don’t know.”

Niall wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if Liam’s face had gotten a few angry lines.

Everyone was looking at Zayn now. “What about you?” Mr Flute sure was confident.

“Sorry, I can’t. I promised to spend time with my sisters today. Maybe another time? Tomorrow?”

The corners of Liam’s mouth moved. “Sure. I can’t tomorrow but you can still do something together. We’ll figure something out..”

He sure does have an expressive face, Niall thought, but didn’t say anything.

The five of them finally left the room that was now empty except for Mrs. Bucket who was scribbling on her sheet music in a speed that made Niall wonder if she even knew what she was writing down.

Zayn waved them all goodbye when they reached the last steps and almost sprinted in the direction of the train station. They walked a few steps and sat down on two benches by a ping-pong table. Harry was keeping his viola case upright between his knees while the flutists had put his instrument on the table before plopping down on the second bench.

“Sooooo, you’re the new flute guy then..” Niall didn’t know what to say and the question came out more condescending than interested as intended.

“Yep, that’s me. Anyone tired of getting their eardrums pierced yet? No?”

“Excuuuse me, we all don’t even have ears anymore with Niall in the back.” Harry signed slowly. Niall guessed it was so the other two would understand him but he also knew they likely didn’t understand a thing.

“How am I supposed to pierce anything,” he says in fake enragement. “My sound is broad and beautiful and if it’s too loud for you you’re weak and are not worthy of classical music.”

The two brass players resembled two confused cats and Louis was the first to speak. “Why doesn’t he talk?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit rude to ask? Especially as someone who has never even formally introduced himself?”. Niall wasn’t serious, it happened a lot and although Harry had expressed several times that it was okay it still irked Niall.

Louis looked appropriately guilty in Niall’s opinion so he grinned at him and said: “Don’t take it to heart. Harry doesn’t mind apparently. But we would still love to learn your name.”

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson. I play the flute. I’m here for the first time because I never had time. Yeah. That’s about it.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you, Louis. I’m Niall. I play the timpani. Well.. I’m a percussionist to be precise but Mrs. Bucket only ever lets me play the timpani for some reason. And this is Harry. He’s the heart of the viola section.” Harry rolled his eyes. “And yes, he doesn’t talk. He has the ability to talk, but most of the time his evil, evil brain doesn’t let him speak. Mostly when it’s people that aren’t his mom. But even she doesn’t have it easy with this one.”

Liam confidently nodded and even though he was certain the others knew his name he quickly threw in a “I’m Liam. Contrabass tuba.”. Next to him Louis seemed to uncomfortably play with his hands, kicking at stones under the bench.

Something in Niall’s side felt sharp and for a moment he feared the salty lunch had taken it’s toll and he was destined to die of salt poisoning before he realized it was just Harry trying to get his attention. His chin pointed towards Louis as he began to sign. “You really don’t need to feel bad, if that’s what you’re kicking those poor stones for. Niall was joking. Honestly. He can be a bit blunt. And clumsy. This includes words.”

“That's ridiculous,” Niall interjected. “I am neither of these things and I will stop being your personal translator should you continued to slander me like that.”

With a laugh and a shake of his head Harry continued. Louis was looking better already too.

“Let’s talk about Mrs. Bucket’s obsession with looking out. You think she was a zebra in a past life?”

“A zebra? 

The conversation fell into a rhythm of increasingly ridiculous topics like stolen heads, various conspiracy theories and which drink they would be, were they to wake up as one. Even Liam got pulled out of his mopy state after a while.

As it got chilly outside they decided to unhurriedly walk into the general direction of the train station. The only one lucky enough to live in the city was Liam, who pushed his bike behind them until he had to head off in a different direction.

Once he was gone Niall blurted out: “So why do you think Liam looked so sad when Zayn said he had to hang with his sisters?”

“I don’t know? Does he have any siblings?”. Turned towards Louis as if he would understand Harry posed his question. Niall could barely see but translated what he thought he saw.

“He does. Two sisters actually. You’d think he’d get it, eh. Maybe he’s just tired of me and needs new friends.” The wink that followed made all of them laugh and suddenly they were at the station already.

“Which train do you take?”

Louis cursed and pointed at the arriving train. “This one.” He sprinted up the stairs to his platform, flute case swinging from side to side in his grip.

“Gotta go, bye.”

“See you tomorrow!”

Harry waved.


	3. All That's Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry get home.

Once in his room, Louis threw his instrument on his bed with the same apparent carelessness as before, grabbed his laptop and opened it. The browser still showed a paused video of a Dvořák symphony played by Berliner Philharmoniker. He opened a new tab and typed “british sign language for beginners”. The results were overwhelming and after a few clicks and skimming some of the articles, video descriptions and pictures he decided he would start with learning the alphabet. How hard could it be. 26 letters, 26 movements, he’s good with his fingers and his coordination isn’t too bad either.

Finger to palm.

Fingers to fingers.

Two fingers, three fingers.

Bend.

Stretch again.

Concentrated as he could after an afternoon of playing and being around a ton of loud youth he tried to spell the alphabet over and over. He even tried to spell a word or two but got insecure whether he was doing it right and stopped halfway. After a few videos he felt more content and managed to spell his name at a speed that he considered fast.

He tried to find a video where he could practice his spelling and reading and after an agonizing search got several ones that first showed individual letters that stayed on the screen for a few seconds. Afterwards the solution, the right position, was shown. The higher the level the smaller the timeframe and eventually it evolved to first small and later bigger words. The page offered the same system but the other way around as well.

In a bout of overestimation Louis clicked on a level 3 video. Even though he could see the shapes on the screen, to his brain they flew by and felt as blurry as if he had tried to take a picture of a car on the highway. Frustrated, he took a deep breath.

Level one it was then. The speed was perfect. Reluctantly Louis accepted that forty minutes of his own helpless attempts wouldn’t do. He had to start at the very bottom.

He hadn’t seen Harry spell a lot after all so maybe recognising a handful of signs was enough for a start, he thought to himself. After all, Harry didn’t rely on others being able to sign, just understanding. He still didn’t really understand why Harry couldn’t speak. Or didn’t speak. They had never dropped a term during the afternoon and Louis didn’t dare to ask again. He knew he was a bit rude just asking right out but couldn’t think of a more subtle way either. And the duo didn’t seem to actually mind too much. It must happen a lot, the combination of one talking and the other signing back was unusual after all. He went back to his initial search.

“Greetings in BSL”. This looked like a good start.

His door sounded like it would come out of it’s hinges when the door to his room flew open, banged against his closet, probably leaving a mark, and almost closed on itself again before his sisters came running in, chasing each other. One of them landed on his bed and an ouch was heard and Fizzy and Daisy giggled and went prancing out of the room again as innocently as their movements and speed would allow.

Phoebe pulled his flute case out from underneath her. “That really hurt.”

“Well, sorry Poebs, you don’t just go jumping on my bed expecting to land on a mattress. This is my room after all.” Louis took the case form her hand and put it in its designated place.

“What are you doing?” Phoebe’s attention had shifted from his bed to his computer and she looked at a woman with her hand up that was showing in the paused video. Next to her it spelled “HELLO”.

“Uuuh, nothing? Just.. just some research?”

“Aha.” She lost interest as quickly as it came and stood up in the middle of his room, undecidedly throwing her arms around her body.

“Why don’t you just go back out and play?”, Louis suggested.

“I don’t want to. All they do is chase me around and laugh. It’s no fun.”

“Alright. Do you want to stay?”  
“Yes!!” His little sister excitedly clapped her hands together and sat down on the floor.

He loved his sisters and usually wouldn’t mind having one or all of them around but this time he wasn’t as happy about it as he should have been. He wanted to learn some more signs before dinner without constant disturbance.

“Do you want to draw something? Or colour?”

“Mm. Okay.” The agreement wasn’t content but enough for Louis to pull a few pieces of paper out of the stack next to his desk, grabbed the box of all his leftover and almost lost pencils, crayons and whatever else he had thrown in there over the years and put them on the floor next to Phoebe. He got up, closed the door, returned, turned off the sound on his laptop and pressed play again.

-

“Hey Harry, how was orchestra?”

His mother’s question spilled out of the kitchen and into the hall. He hadn’t even closed the front door yet as the body to the voice appeared and pulled him into a hug.

“Hi mum. Orchestra was good, thanks.”

He managed to take off his shoes and put them out of the way. “Is Gemma home?”

“No, she’s with her friends. It’s Friday after all. Don’t you want to invite someone over?”

“I’m just home from practice, don’t you think I should have some alone time. Rest? Eat? We were almost poisoned today. With Salt!” At the memory he made a face. Even though at the time he didn’t say anything, Zayn was right. The sauce had been disgustingly salty. Hunger made most of them eat it. He would still prefer having a sandwich and a big glass of water now to make up for it.

“Poisoned? Aren’t you being a bit dramatic? I thought you got food at a restaurant. It can’t be in their interest to poison its customers.”

“Why they did. Just ask Zayn. He was this close to throwing a tantrum. Always those first violinists.” He grinned and followed his mum into the kitchen.

“Besides, I already hung out today. After orchestra. Liam, the contrabass tubist and the new flutist, Louis, they asked if we wanted to do something after practice. So we did. Well not Zayn, didn’t have time, but the rest of us did. Niall and I did.”

“That’s great Harry. Did you talk too?”

Harry’s expression changed from delightful to worried. His hands flew up. “I did…” He signed sign, his lips barely moving.

“Oh my child.” Anne caressed her son’s cheek. “What did Mr. Kowal tell you was your goal for this weekend?”

His chin drew forwards and he got stubborn remembering his therapist’s words. “If I don’t even try saying anything this weekend I can’t get better. But he’s useless” He doesn’t understand. Did you know what he also told me?” His voice got loud. “I shouldn’t drink cold drinks when I’m nervous but rather something hot like tea. And no coffee because then I’d sweat even more. What does that have to do with anything? I’m not nervous about sweating, my sweat has never been an issue connected to this.” He violently snipped his throat and Anne quickly took his arm and pulled it down. “I’m trying, okay. But threatening me surely won’t make me better. He keeps saying I can talk since I sometimes say something during therapy but isn’t that exactly what selective mutism means? That I have less trouble talking in certain situations?”

No one interrupted the waterfall of frustration gushing out of him. He knew his mother understood but he hated his therapist. He was recommended to them as someone who has dealt with mutism before but his actions made it seem like he had no idea. Sometimes Harry wondered if he was just an outlier, not meant to be cured, not meant to get even a little bit better and doomed to need write everything down or have someone translate for him for all eternity. If only his insurance would pay for an interpreter. But they are convinced forcing him into inconvenience would eventually cure him. So far it hadn’t worked.

A piece of cake was placed on the table and a glass of water put next to it. His mother pulled out a chair and guided Harry to it. Wordless he sat down and bit into his cake.

“I know how hard this is for you. And we’ll get you a new therapist as soon as one becomes available but we’re not there yet, you know how it is. I thought maybe trying to use Mr. Kowal’s.. attempts could work. I guess I was wrong. Did you have fun with the other two boys?”

Harry’s head cleared a bit again at the mention of his afternoon and he slowly nodded, swallowing what was in his mouth. “It was pretty cool. But Louis asked why I don’t talk and Niall made him feel a bit bad about it. I wish he hadn’t, but I think he’s okay now. At least he had the guts to ask and didn’t just stare or awkwardly ignore it. I think I prefer that.”

They sat in silence again, Harry eating, his mum trying to watch him with out being too obvious. The little smile on her lips gave her away. Eventually she got up and continued washing the bowls and spoons she had used for making the cake Harry was eating.

“He’s really nice, you know.”

“Who is?”

“Louis. The one that asked about me.”

“Oh, is he?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty funny too. And laughed about my silly jokes.”

“That’s nice. You’re making new friends. Will you see them again?”

“Unless they are miraculously hindered from coming to practice or at least the concert on Sunday then yes, I will see them again.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Of course.” His voice carried mischief. “But it’s amusing. I don’t know if we will see them again. I think Liam wants to see us again, especially if Zayn is coming.”

“And do you want to see them again. Do you want to see Louis again?”

“Sure.”

“Sure. Okay, very enthusiastic.”

“How enthusiastic do you want me to be? It was nice, they were nice, I felt good and I would like to do something out of orchestra with them again. Sure is the easiest way to say it.”

“I see, your talkative I-just-got-home-and-need-to-let-it-out time is coming to an end.”

They both grinned and returned to what they were doing. Harry finished his cake, put the dishes in the dishwasher, lifted his hand a bit to signal he was off and left.

After grabbing his viola case on the way to his room Harry fell face down onto his bed. Being around people could always be exhausting. Meeting and hanging out with new ones was a whole different matter. The few hours they spent together after practice felt like ages and while he enjoyed it a great deal it required a great deal of energy as well, which Harry noticed only now that he could relax completely. Initially he had planned to practice a little bit once he was home as playing could help him unwind but now, here on the bed, almost comfortable except for having to breath through a pillow, he was too lazy to get up. Turning his head for easier breathing took enormous willpower. Orchestra could be trying, having to repeat things over and over because people that weren’t you didn’t do things to the conductor’s liking, sometimes it was you and everyone got a bit annoyed - it was frustrating. A lot was going on around you and sometimes the seating arrangement had you sit before or next to an instrument whose only goal seemed to be to rob you of the ability to ever hear music again. Especially if you insisted on not being first chair. At the same time there was nothing better than music. Playing music was everything even if composers liked to neglect violas. But this weekend one of them was the reason he got to sit close to a loud new kid that was funny, outspoken, curious and seemed to like him.

Maybe having someone squeak into his ear from behind wasn’t too bad. Blessed be Jommelli.

**Author's Note:**

> Note that I am not fluent in BSL, I only know the sign language of my country and single words and expressions in BSL which this is based on.


End file.
